


Ulterior Motives

by XzadionOmega



Category: Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Nausea, Smoking, Team Bonding, Tsviets, Tsviets Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XzadionOmega/pseuds/XzadionOmega
Summary: "I would have been suspicious of the questions, but I doubt Rufus cares if I had ever worn shorts or seen snow." Reno doing his best.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distantglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/gifts).



“How’s detox going, man?”

My hands twitch at my side, itching to take hold of swords that got buried with the rest of DeepGround. I scan the room for potential weapons, anything that would be of use, but the Turks were thorough in their purging and proofing. The window is shatterproof. No glass bulbs. No ballpoint pens. They refuse to even allow me to use a glass; the cup of water that Reno sets near my head is a cream-colored paper.

“Fine.”

“Wanna go out to the yard? Get some sun?”

“No.”

Reno sighs. He passes a hand through his hair. “You gotta. Tseng’s orders.”

“Then why give me a choice?” Reno shows a sliver of teeth, then shrugs. “Besides, I don’t take orders from Tseng.”

“You work for ShinRa, meaning Rufus. Meaning Tseng. On your feet, Weiss.”

I lurch up to my feet and stagger, clutching a wall for support. To his credit, Reno’s mouth stays in a neutral line. I make my way over to the door before the nausea hits. Grim-faced Rude watches me slap a hand over my mouth while the bile rises. A shudder wracks my body, but I can still swallow it back and stand straight. Rude nods with approval.

Reno’s face brightens. He claps a hand on both of our shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go.”

//

“Have you ever… Had a beer?”

“No.”

Reno has been playing this game since I got here. By asking too many questions, Reno is slowly piecing together the Tsviet experience. Or my experience, anyway. I would have been suspicious of the questions, but I doubt Rufus cares if I had ever worn shorts or seen snow. There has to be an ulterior motive here though, even if it is not related to gathering information.

Some sniper, curled in the trees a full kilometer away, lining up a crosshair with my temple and waiting to kill me while I answer a question about whether I have ever seen a movie for leisure; I can see that. Rufus said he would not have me killed, but ShinRa is not the only organization that knows of me. The Turks are mercenaries, according to Rude, and Reno is a suspicious man.

“Ever been drunk?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s rough!”

I make that sniper earn his kill. I lean forward, acting like vomit is burning up my throat, then let the moment pass and straighten back up again. A while later, I lean back, acting like a need to pull an answer together. I cock my head, like a question is out of my reach. Pantomiming a conversation and screwing up the Turks’ plans.

“Have you ever smoked?”

“No.” Lean forward.

“Did anyone smoke down there?”

I lean to the side. “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever even seen a cigarette?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

Reno moves to get something out of his jacket. A weapon. His sniper is taking too long. He plans to do it himself!

I leap across the table. Impact on impact. His wrist to his sternum, his back to the concrete, and me to him. Rude swings around, gun drawn.

Before anything else can happen, Reno’s hand slides out of his jacket. He’s holding a small paper stick with a deep, invasive smell. Not a weapon at all. I look to his face, expecting anger, fear, revulsion. All I see is shock. “What the hell was that!?”

Rude pulls me off him and begins pushing me into the house.

//

Rufus gave me a full load of wind from his privileged lungs. How could I consider that Reno would attempt to harm me? Why would the company want me dead? Why would Reno want me dead? Did it not occur to me that not everything had to be a fight? He had concluded his tirade with “You are an investment, Weiss. Do not make me regret it.”

And then he sent me to my room. The Emperor of Deepground, reduced to sulking like a chastised recruit. I would be more angry about it, but a migraine has been building since coming back inside and Rufus’ droning rant hardly improved it.

“Hey…” Reno is in my doorway, holding two paper cups. “Look… I’m sorry about the cigarette thing.” He gives the cup a shake. “Brought you a beer.”

“Alcohol?”

“Yeah. Just for the experience, you know?”

Reno sits on the bed and passes it over. I take a sniff; somewhat bread-like, and acidic. It even bubbles like acid. My understanding of alcohol is that it can intoxicate, dull the senses, and encourage impulsive, stupid mistakes. I must be staring at it too long because Reno takes the cup and takes a swig. He hands it back. “Look, I’m not trying to kill you. I know that’s new for you, but I’ve seriously got better shit to do.”

“Then why are you engaging me?”

The word is too military, and I can see it on his face, but there are no other words for it. Reno gives me a thoughtful look. Mulling it over. “Well, you weren’t always so great with all your weapons, yeah? You had to get to know them?”

“Right…?”

“Well, you’re a new gun for me. I don’t know you.”

“And getting to know me is a better use of your time than killing me?”

“So far, yeah. You’ve still got a stick up your ass, but you aren’t trying to kill people anymore, that psycho doctor isn’t in your head anymore… You’ve got it good right now, man.”

I take a drink of the beer. It burns, but just for a minute. It bubbles across my tongue and still tastes like chemicals, but there’s something under it. Reno watches for my reaction. “It’s not bad.”

"Yeah, it's alright. In Wutai, they’ve got this ale that’s really smooth. You’d love it.” Reno takes a drink, then looks at me. “Hey, have you ever been to Wutai?”


End file.
